


Under The Wolf, Under The Dog

by Narcissistic_Ninny



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcissistic_Ninny/pseuds/Narcissistic_Ninny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, uh, I noticed you’re commando most days. Is that because you have to transform, or cause you just don’t-”</p><p>“Oh my god,” he said. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under The Wolf, Under The Dog

 

 

Stiles had trouble walking. He breathed heavily through his nose, inhaling and filling himself with air. Derek nudged him along the way, pressing his snout against the small of his back. Even in the dark, he had been able to see the crimson staining his nose and dripping from his mouth.

Stiles was getting sick and tired of being kidnapped. It happened more times than he cared to admit. Only this time a group of pasty vampires had taken him, and there was one chick with long black hair who kept threatening to cut his neck and hang him upside down from a tree and leave him to bleed out every time he talked too much. Clearly she had seen Let Me In. And he used to like that movie.

And when he had been in the dark, bleeding and alone, he thought about his dad, and how he should have cleaned his room and told his dad he loved him before leaving for school that morning, and there was a distant howl, and Stiles knew the loudest howl belonged to Derek. That echo that traveled through the forest, that heartbeat in the night that was Derek.

He had come in through the windows, glass shattering and breaking, his howls as piercing as the sound of bullets. And the hunters didn’t even have a chance. Derek bit the head vampire’s throat, bit into the other’s stomachs until their intestines came out. Isaac was more merciful, but not any less forgiving. Scott was somewhere in between, crunching their bones with sharp teeth.

There was so much blood.

Derek was the one who took him home, nosing him all the way back, a strong silent presence behind Stiles. He changed in front of Stiles when they got to his backyard, and he was naked, and he didn’t even look like he cared. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Stiles muttered.

His lip was busted and cut, he was pretty sure he has a black eye, and there was going to be bruises on his ribs in the morning. All in all, his pride was more hurt than his physical body. Derek wiped the blood off his face with his forearm, giving him this stern look, that even after years of knowing him, Stiles still couldn’t figure out what it meant.

“Take care.”

He turned back to his wolf form, and he ran off, wild in the night. Sometimes, Stiles had the foolish wish to be able to run with him.

 

**

 

He typed.

His paper was due the next day, his eyelids felt heavy, cans of red bull littered around his laptop. Behind him, he heard a thump against the hardwood floor. He rubbed at his eyes, and turned around. Derek was lying on his stomach; wolf Derek, his muzzle resting on his outstretched paws; completely still save for his tail that kept hitting the floor. His eyes were bright red in the dark corner, where he continued to watch him.

After dinner, he had showed up, scratching at the back door until Stiles let him in. After that they had gone upstairs and Stiles had done his homework, and Derek hadn’t moved at all. It should have been creepy, or at least uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. Stiles did get extra hyper when he was around, excited to just have him around in his big lonely house. Derek had been showing up to see if he was okay. At least that’s what Stiles assumed he was doing, since he never actually said anything.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Well, I’m going to be up for another hour.”

He got no response, so he turned back around. Stiles typed. Derek’s tail stopped hitting the bed twenty minutes into it. After he finished his paper, he crawled under his covers, looking down at Derek, whose breathing had evened out some time ago. “Good night Derek.”

 

**

 

Stile had his arm around Derek, dragging his heavy ass weight through the parking lot of an outlet mall. Of all the places to pick a fight. “You know, that fight looked pretty cool,” Stiles managed to say between his heaving pants as he struggled to keep Derek up. “Kinda like the fight scenes from Underworld. Only the chick didn’t look like Kate Beckinsale at all. Too bad, huh?”

It really was a shame. Kate Beckinsale was hot.

They had to stop because Derek tore away from him and fell to his knees, throwing up blood and coughing. And. Derek had obviously seen better days. Stiles kneeled beside him, rubbing his back, hands grabbing Derek by his jacket, pulling him, anchoring him until he stopped hacking up blood and sounding like he was going to vomit out a lung or something.

Pulling him was hard, every single time, and Stiles could never get used to seeing Derek, grey in the face and dying. No matter how many times he had seen it. He blabbered, not really saying anything important, but he knew his voice kept Derek awake.

His answer didn’t come until they were inside his Jeep, driving down the road towards Derek’s place, ad Derek practically melted in the car seat, thick eyelashes fluttering shut, and Derek finally said, “Shut up, Stiles.”

“Come on, if I had seen that fight on TV I would have thought it was an awesome action movie.”

Derek still had his eyes closed, arms folded over his torso, and the scars and wounds on his body were already healing. Derek was starting to get some color back, and apparently his sass. “You think every action movie is awesome. You have no taste.”

“Well, they have their appeal. Even you have to admit to that.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“So if you and that scary chick were to have a kid, would it be like the abomination?”

Derek didn’t say anything.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

“Mmm. No.”

“I’m not gonna drag your heavy werewolf ass inside your apartment. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re fucking heavy, dude.”

Derek chuckled. “I’ll be healed by the time we get there.”

“You sure?”

Derek answered him with a light snore.

 

**

 

The vampires tried to kill them. Again.

The good news was that Stiles hadn’t been kidnapped. Bad news was he was right smack in the middle of a blood bath. In the parking lot of a pancake house. Stiles liked going there for breakfast with his dad on Saturday mornings. He just hoped they wouldn’t damage the place. He really liked their pancakes. If he missed out on good breakfast on the weekend he was going to be pissed.

Derek stripped off his jacket and got out of his jeans, kicking them off his long, toned legs. Stiles swallowed thickly. “Do you have to get naked in front of me?”

Derek huffed just like a teenage girl. Stiles would have pointed it long ago if he wasn’t afraid of getting mauled to death, or hearing an extremely sassy comment. “Nothing you’ve never seen before,” he grunted, throwing his clothes at Stiles, like he had been assigned the keeper of his underwear.

Wait.

“I’m just saying, _I’m right here_! I’ve already seen Jackson’s junk before, and I’ve seen yours and,” he waved his arms about, the way he did when he was desperate to get his point across. Or shield his eyes. Or pretend to shield his eyes. Whatever. He could look. “I’ve seen enough junk is all I’m saying!”

“No one tells you to look.”

“How can I _not_ look?”

Their mouths were open, ready to say something, except there was a scream, and before Stiles could blink Derek transformed into a wolf.

Derek’s black fur stood on edge when his back arched, and he growled loud, snapping viciously, snarling, entire body shaking with violence. Stiles could feel his snarls vibrating deep inside him, shaking him because he could feel it pounding in his chest. Stiles wouldn’t be able to forget the high-pitched screams, the wet sound when their blood hit the pavement, the crunch of bones breaking.  

At least he won’t have to worry about her again.

 

**

 

Ruby red blood dripped from his muzzle, the hairs on his back bristling and standing on edge, even after the fight was over. Derek didn’t to turn back until he was in the Jeep, setting his naked ass down in the passenger side with a frown. He had never seen someone look so pissed off while naked. And this included seeing Jackson and his moody self in the locker room.

But the point remained. Derek was sitting naked in his car.

“I’m starting to think you’re a nudist.”

“Do you have my clothes?”

Stiles sighed, reaching around his car seat, grabbing the bundle from his backseat, and handed his clothes back to him. “Here you go, wolf man.”

Derek rolled his eyes, taking the jeans first, sliding them over his thighs. He turned away, giving Derek privacy. He had already seen Derek’s _everything_ , but still. Manners. They were important or something. “You’re getting blood all over my car,” he said; just to fill the silence.

“You prefer my blood or yours?” he gritted.

“Yours. I’m fine with yours.”

Derek nodded, pulling on his shirt.

“So, uh, I noticed you’re commando most days. Is that because you have to transform, or cause you just don’t-”

“Oh my _god.”_ he said. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“I’m serious, I’m really curious.”

Derek stayed quiet, before he sighed heavily. “It’s faster to transform if I don’t have to take off my underwear.”

“Man, you can never catch a break, can you?” he asked.

Derek looked out the window, resting his elbow on the car door, a tiny smirk on his lips. They stayed silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The radio played a Taylor Swift song, a love song, of course it had to be a love song. Even more disturbing was the fact that Derek had never even heard of Taylor Swift. The man lived under a rock.

After playing the Taylor Swift CD he had made for Scott when he had gone through his Allison stage, Derek looked ready to bolt out the car. Like Taylor Swift was a whole level scarier to him than vampires trying to kill him.

Except Derek didn’t bolt out of the car. When Stiles took him to his place, and Derek looked at him, hand resting on the door handle, having not opened the door yet. He sat there, looking at him, then asked, “You want to come in?”

And Stiles couldn’t think of anything he had to do, so he turned off his car ignition and followed him inside.

Stiles learned that Derek had a _huge,_ bordering on obsessive crush on Simon Pegg, and had nearly all his movies. Derek denied the crush thing, but Stiles saw through his lies and deceit. Also, Derek didn’t like to share his bag of Cheddar Ruffles. He learned that when he reached for one and Derek had actually _growled_ and handed him his own bag.

He stayed until his dad called, telling him to come home. He drove home, a smile on his lips.

 

**

 

Outside, there was howl, leaves scattering across the pavement as the wind carried them. Derek came into his room, fully transformed, his nails clicking against the wood floor. He trotted into the room, then jumped up on the bed next to Stiles. Stiles made room for the wolf, and Derek curled in on himself, making himself a ball of black fur, resting his muzzle on his paw, diaphragm rising with a final huff.

On bad nights, when he doesn’t want to talk, Derek came. Stiles never knew when Derek was going to come by, he just came home to wolf Derek lying on his bed. He used to try to push him off, but wolf Derek was just as heavy as human Derek, just as big and just as stubborn.

Most nights, wolf Derek just lied there, didn’t react when Stiles petted him, ran his fingers through his fur. But some nights, nights like this, Derek nudged his hand, pressing into his palm. And. Stiles got the hints, and petted him more, fingertips digging and scratching, until Derek relaxed and closed his eyes. When he did, Stiles curled around him, throwing an arm over him.

“This going to become a habit?” Stiles asked. Derek made a huff.

He scratched behind his ear, the way he knew Derek liked. He was so warm, and Stiles was getting sleepy. “You’re a lot more cuddly as a wolf.”

They lied like that until Stiles fell asleep.

 

**

 

“Why are you wearing Derek’s jacket?”

Stiles looked down at himself, shrugging from inside the oversized leather jacket. “It was in my backseat. It’s cold out today.”

He started to keep spare clothes for Derek in his Jeep, keeping some of his old shirts and jeans back there for him so he would have something to give to Derek when he transformed back. He liked to think he was prepared, but another part just liked having something of Derek’s that wasn’t covered in blood.

Scott gave him a _look_. “Why was his jacket in your backseat?”

“Well, sometimes when he goes into stripper mode on me he sometimes forgets his stuff in my car,” he said. “That reminds me, I left my chemistry book in his apartment.”

Scott made another face; the one he used whenever he thought something’s disgusting, like when he mentioned his mom was dating someone. Stiles never told him before, but he thought Scott’s expression was hilarious. “I want to ask, but I don’t want to know.”

“Dude, you’re making this a big deal.”

He shook his head, mouthing, _Derek?_ “The big deal is you wearing his clothes. You look like a cheerleader wearing her jock boyfriend’s jacket or something.”

“Dude. No.”

“Dude. Yes.”

And. Stiles hated when Scott was right.

“I’m still wearing it though.”

Scott rolled his eyes in a way that reminded Stiles of Derek. Jackson too. He wondered if all werewolves rolled their eyes like that.

“It’s not a werewolf thing. It’s just a side-effect from hanging around you,” Scott said. “And yes, you asked that out loud. You do that.”

 

**

 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Derek muttered, landing facedown on his bed, his bed giving a creak and a groan under his weight. Stiles let his eyes wander down the length of Derek’s backside, because he could, who fucking cared if Derek could sense it. There was no way Derek never noticed the blush on his face every time got naked in front of him.

“Hey, I love sleepovers as much as the next guy, but you’re sort of on my bed.”

Derek lifted his head, looking at him from under his brow. “There’s enough room for you.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he wondered what did he do to deserve this. Wolf Derek lying in his bed was one thing. It was still Derek, but for reason, it just felt different. Derek never came to him as a human. Except when he needed Stiles to research something, or if he needed to hide from the cops. It was _weird_. “Listen, I can put up with your breaking and entering-”

“It’s not breaking and entering if you leave your back door and windows open, or let me in.”

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I can’t sing, hide yo kids, hide yo wife then.”

“Ugh. Shut up.”

This was going to kill him. Derek was going to kill him. He toed off his sneakers and lied down next to Derek. He turned on his side to face him, hands tucked in front of his chest. His foot was thrumming; shaking because he needed to move, to talk, to roll around on his mattress, except he couldn’t, Derek was there, always there, always pushing Stiles. And Stiles was always forced to relax and just _breathe_ around him.

Trouble was, he knew it was a bad idea even before he crawled into bed with Derek. Derek, the person he’d been having wet dreams about, Derek who could have anyone he wanted because he was that hot. So fucking unfair. Derek who looked at him with intense eyes, coming into his house like he lived there. Derek who always left gum wrappers in his jacket pockets. Derek who was slowly taking over Stiles’ life.

“You know,” he said, “I always thought werewolves would have these sick sideburns and really hairy chests. You’re not as hairy as I thought.”

“You want me to have _sick sideburns_?” Derek asked; voice muffled by the pillow his face was buried in.

“Well no, I just thought you would. You know. Have like these awesome chops or something.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

He never got an answer because Derek was already asleep, lightly snoring, back rising and falling with his breathing. Stiles finally quieted down, felt himself relax, and when he was sure Derek was deep asleep, his snoring getting louder, he rolled closer to him, stopping only until they were an inch apart. Then, he was able to sleep.

 

**

 

Crunchy leaves crackled under his sneakers, breaking some thin branches along the way as he ran. He laughed, hearing the husky gruff as Derek ran behind him, right at his ankles, their combined pants echoing the otherwise silence. There was always a rush when he ran, right along with Derek in the dead of night, cool air sliding past his cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest, his fingers numb from the cold.

He ran faster, letting his legs take over, taking him the distance. Derek’s head would nudge him before he sprinted and ran off ahead of him. Sometimes he was able to keep up, reaching out, long fingers tugging on his bristly hair, and Derek growled, but it was never an angry growl. They ran and ran, until Stiles had to stop. Catching his breath, chugging some air back into his lungs. He didn’t feel cold anymore, he was actually sweating under his sweater. Derek ran ahead of him, disappearing behind the trees. When he noticed Stiles wasn’t behind him anymore, he made a circle and trotted back to him, bouncing a little with each step until he was in front of Stiles again.

Nudging him with his head, impatient; so much more vocal when he wasn’t actually talking. He pressed against Stiles, urging him to run again, until Stiles grinned and he ran off again, Derek at his heels.

 

**

 

In the mirror, he could see the bruise on his cheek. His fingers lifted his shirt, and he could see the bruises on his torso, spots of yellow on his skin. He keeps telling his dad it’s from lacrosse practice, and he hates lying to his dad. One day everything’s going to explode in his face, but he doesn’t think he can start telling the truth now, not when he’s making a habit of lying.

Turning off the lights, he headed back into his dark bedroom, where Derek was asleep, face down, snoring into his pillow. He crawled in next to him, tucking himself into his side, where he felt safe. And. It was funny to think that about Derek Hale, the same Derek that threatened him, the same one who saved his skin more times than he could count. Derek, who visited him when he was hurt, or when he got sad about his mom, and Derek could somehow sense it, coming into his room to save him from his own thoughts.

Reaching out, his steady, still fingers traced over Derek’s tattoo, ghosting over his ink-covered flesh, feeling the tight, taunt muscle underneath the surprising softness of his skin. Derek didn’t move, but he knew he had woken him up, just by the way he breathed differently.

Stiles leaned over him, whispering into the shell of his ear, “Goodnight Derek.”

“Goodnight Stiles.”

And hearing his name on Derek’s lips was like taking a breath after being under the ocean. He smiled, soft and small; even if the inside of his room is dark, even when Derek wasn’t looking at him. He doesn’t want to know what Derek would think if he knew. Stiles settled back down, closed his eyes, and he slept.

 

**

 

He opened the door before Derek the wolf had a chance to scratch at the screen door. Derek looked up at him, huffing, and a sort of growl when he stood right in front of the kitchen doorway. Like he was somehow offended that Stiles beat him to getting to the door. Stiles smiled, not caring that Derek caught him wearing an apron and a hot pink oven mitt.

“I’m making dinner.”

Red eyes stared up at him.

“Right.” Stiles stepped aside, letting Derek in. He walked around the kitchen, sniffing around as if he were an actual dog. “Change back in my room. Put on whatever fits.”

Stiles kept big clothes around for him, especially after the whole cousin Miguel thing. Derek’s nails clicked against the floor as he made his way upstairs, and two minutes later he came back down, wearing his sweatpants and a T-shirt that was too tight, but none of Stiles shirts actually fit him. His sweatpants rested above Derek’s ankles, looking like he had an unexpected growth spurt.

He definitely looked better in his clothing than he did, and he shouldn’t look that good in too small clothing, but he does. It was really unfair how defined and cut he was. Clearing his throat, he said, “I made spaghetti.”

Together, they ate most of it, leaving very little for his dad, but Stiles was a growing boy, and Derek probably needed substance to maintain his godlike figure. He could probably burn off the calories anyways. Damn werewolves.

After dinner, Derek helped him with the dishes, and Stiles had finished his homework early, so they stayed up watching movies on Netflix. Stiles felt too tired to care about his head resting on Derek’s shoulder, or the fact that Derek hadn’t said anything about it. He thought about throwing his legs over Derek’s lap, or reaching out and holding his hand, maybe even leaning in and kissing his cheek, all those thoughts and he always got hyper around him, but he doesn’t do that. His mind reels all thoughts, and he settles for leaning against his warm side, content to just be there with him.

 

**

 

The thing about sleeping with Derek was that it was uncomfortable. He still didn’t know where to put his arms, if he should lie on his back, or on his side and face him. It felt strange. Because he was sleeping with Derek, but not really sleeping with him. It felt intimate, even though Stiles felt like it shouldn’t be. Not between them.

Not when an hour ago he had Derek slumped against his bathroom wall while Stiles freaked out because there was blood everywhere. It didn’t matter that Derek always healed, because Stiles always felt scared, felt the thought of losing him weighing down on him and suffocating him. Stiles liked it better when Derek showed up with dirt on his cheek from running around like the wild animal that he was.

Truth was, it didn’t matter to Stiles how Derek showed up. All he ever thought about anymore was how Derek’s shirt rode up his torso when he slept. Stiles’ Jeep and his house, his _mind_ had been taken over by Derek’s dirt, his smell, his blood, his clothes. Or lack of clothes. Stiles thought about that a lot too.

He thought about how Derek must not living all alone either. Once he had a family, and he would go home to that, and he didn’t have that anymore. Stiles didn’t have his mom to go home to anymore, so yeah, Stiles got it. He could understand wanting to go home and find someone there, spend time with someone instead of staying in a quiet house just waiting for the hour to go to bed.

“So last night I had this dream where I was that blonde in the Wheel of Fortune. I wasn’t wearing a dress, but my suit was really sparkly, and Allison was the host. Scott was playing, but he kept losing to Lydia. She’s so smart, and pretty. You know, it was actually really fun walking up and down pressing those light square things. You wouldn’t think so, but I was having a blast in my dream.”

“Give it a rest,” Derek muttered. “Just go to sleep.”

Stiles lightly kicked his knee. Even if he kicked his hardest, it still wouldn’t hurt him, but he didn’t want to hurt himself in the process. So. Derek smirked, kicked him back lightly. Stiles punched his arm, and Derek playfully shoved his shoulder. It felt ridiculous, shoving and pushing, two full-grown men on a small bed, but Stiles still tried to shove him. Derek grabbed his wrist before he could, and Stiles tired to wiggle out of his grasp, but it only tightened. He started to panic, because, they were friends, but Derek was still strong, and he could break under him.

Derek’s brow furrowed, and he threw a leg over Stiles’ hip, his forearm over his waist and arm. “Stay still.”

Stiles pursed his lips, wiggled under Derek’s limbs. Derek rolled on top of him, his hand still around his wrist, but his grip loosened, his eyes were staring down at him. Before, he had thought his eyes were dark. He had been surprised by the lightness of them. They were actually kind of pretty. His breath evened out, and Derek was still over him. He didn’t know how, but somehow he just knew he was about to be kissed.

Then, Derek lowered his head, and Stiles’ heart beat faster, jack hammering against his ribs, never closing his eyes, watching Derek’s face, the dark sweep of his lashes, the sharp angle of his jaw. He took that all in, then Derek met their lips together.

It was almost anticlimactic, how gentle the kiss was. It was sweet and slow and tender and so many things he didn’t associate with Derek. At least, not when it applied to Derek and him. He kissed back, and Derek kept the kiss slow, his thumbs massaging the inside of his wrist, his tongue only gently running along his lower lip instead of invading his mouth.

Stiles twisted, trying to deepen it, move things faster because he had been waiting for what felt like forever, but Derek doesn’t let him, and Stiles couldn’t decide if he should like that, or be offended, because it wasn’t like he was fucking fragile. But Derek kissed him in a way that made him relax, melt back into his mattress. And.

The kiss was better than anything he could have imagined.

 

**

 

Derek did this thing where he rubbed his stubble-rough jaw against Stiles’ naked neck and shoulders, and it never failed to make him squirm under his hands because it _tickled_. Derek warmed him when he blanketed him with his heavy, not unwelcomed weight, his body steady and solid like an anchor, nosing his face into Stiles’ hair.

He was used to fighting side by side with Derek. Wolf or human. Used to seeing Derek half dead and being there to patch him back up. Used to saving him, used to having Derek save him too. He was used to getting on each other’s nerves and in each other’s faces, used to not always seeing eye-to-eye, but being able to work together anyways.

What he wasn’t really used to was the way Derek could make him shiver just by trailing his fingers down his spine, how boneless he can make him feel after a slow, passionate kiss. How Derek could sense what Stiles was feeling, even when Stiles never said anything, and how Stiles couldn’t lie to him, even when he lied to everyone else he cared about.

Derek did this thing where he dragged his knuckles on Stiles’ cheek when he cried, tears running down his face, but Derek’s hand always caught them. Everyone always told him he thinks too much, and with Derek he can turn his brain off for a few minutes, and he doesn’t worry so much. He’s not so hyper around him, like Derek calms him.

And he doesn’t want to over think it, but he noticed that Derek smiled around him. Derek actually had a nice smile, and once, it had been rare to see him laugh and smile, but not anymore. Derek doesn’t seem like a dark and gloomy, scowling wolf man anymore, he got to see Derek relax and act casually, not put on the tough guy act like he did around everyone else, pushing everyone away and keeping everyone at a distance, despite his own loneliness. But with Stiles, he was okay with letting him know –not with words- that he liked having him around.

It’s a little scary.

 

(A good kind good scary.)

 

**

 

Isaac kept looking at him, eyes dragging from head to toe, and Stiles just knew he was grinning on the inside. Jackson was trying to look bored, but he didn’t miss the way he sometimes smirked at him, like he found Stiles amusing. He didn’t know what was up with them, but they had been acting funny around him. And Scott had been throwing him weirder looks than usual.

“Your neighbour just told the whole quad that you got a dog,” Allison explained, a smile playing on her lips.

He stayed quiet, then it clicked. “Shouldn’t they be laughing at Derek, not me? I mean; he’s got the whole town thinking he’s my _pet.”_

Allison arched a fine brow, and Stiles sighed. “Right, no one can make fun of the big bad wolf.”

Lydia hummed beside Allison, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a perfect movement, after she finished applying pink lip-gloss to her lips. “Well, if anyone can get away with it without being torn limb from limb, it’s you.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but Isaac cut him off before he could say anything. “Derek only says he will mutilate you, but he doesn’t mean it.”

“Great. Thanks guys. Glad we had this talk. So glad for the imagery.”

They all smiled at him, deadly and threatening, and Stiles vaguely remembered the time when he thought _Derek_ was the scary one.

 

**

 

Stiles sprawled out on his stomach, reading a book, his dad was off at work, and Derek was leaning over his shoulder, kissing him. Stiles used to think Derek kissed random spots on his body, but sometimes, days when he could feel the phantom press of Derek’s lips on his skin, and his fingers touched the spots where Derek’s mouth had been, Stiles found out Derek kissed his moles.

He knew he had several on his back and shoulders. And in the mornings, mornings when Derek stayed, he would wake Stiles up, the soft press of his lips on his warm skin, covering all the moles on his body.

He had seen Derek tear a man to shreds using his teeth.

Derek kissed a mole on his shoulder, his hand coming to rest on his hip, giving a light squeeze.

Stiles had seen Derek howl so loud than it made a hunter’s knees shake, had seen Derek tear flesh with his fangs, seen the blood spilling from a dying man, seen the red matting down his black fur, the deadly gleam in his eyes through the dark.

He had known Derek was capable of kindness and gentleness, but mostly he had never seen it directed towards him.

Stiles was used to the Derek who shifted into a wolf, used to seeing him covered in blood after he dismembered some poor soul, used to seeing him angry and glaring, seeing him threatening and violent. Even the hurt Derek that had been through too much, a Derek who felt the heaviness and loss of his family and came to Stiles’ house just to hear him clatter around his room, so Derek could pretend for a moment he was home.

But, now he got to see a Derek that liked to kiss and cuddle, who was gentle and slow with him, who liked to drive around Beacon Hills aimlessly, never really going anywhere, but it’s time for them to both sit there in his car, the radio playing, and they could both pretend they were normal kids just dating and kissing inside a car.

Now he saw a Derek he really, really cared about.

It made Stiles smile.

 

**

 

The moon shone through the naked branches, paling the damp forest floor in white light. He breathed in the scent of stale leaves, the dew on the grass beneath his sneakers. His cheeks turned pink from the cool air, his hands numb where they were stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. (It wasn’t Derek’s jacket anymore; it was _his_.)

From the bottom of the hill, looking up at the Derek from under the moonlight, Derek was just a dark figure. That old Native American saying, in the dark no one could tell the different between a dog or a wolf. Between wolf or man.

Stiles grinned, because he could tell.

Under the moonlight, he could see the gleam of Derek’s fangs as he bared his teeth. From the bottom of the hill, he heard that familiar sound that carried through the wind, that intake of breath before the inevitable. Derek howled, and Stiles felt it in his veins, pulsing in him, could feel it deep inside his bones. His chest swelled, felt a smile take over his face.

Derek ran, and Stiles followed, chasing after him. When he caught up, Derek’s fur brushed the back of his hand as they ran off into the night, their howls and their laughter mixing together.

He was the boy who played with wolves.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had to throw Jackson in here. I’m missing my baby. 
> 
> Title was taken from a novel by Adam Rapp. I’m don’t remember if that saying is correct, but oh wells.


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